Out from Under
by Annaleise Marie
Summary: [Follow-up to "Coming Out on Top"] Sam may have bested him in the last round...or five...but this time Dean's determined to win and finally get out from under his little brother. Literally. [PWP] [kink; dirty talk, submission, light bondage, h/c, aggression/violence] [prompt fill]


**Out From Under**  
Annaleise Marie  
_cross-posted from livejournal  
__username: girlgotagun_

**Pairing(s)**: Dean/Sam  
**Full List of Kinks**: dirty talk, violence/aggression, submission, light bondage, hurt/comfort (less hurt than comfort, really)  
**WARNING**: None

This was originally written for a prompt at AO3, basically requesting a follow-up to my other fill, "Coming Out on Top". You don't _have _to read that one first (or ever) but it may give you a sort of extra dimension to the story, as this one is pretty different in some ways.

X

_"_Fair _isn't in the rules, remember?" Sam chuckled and Dean writhed at the warm air that rushed over his lower abdomen, right over the elastic of the boxers. "Whatever it takes."_

That's what Sammy had said to him, and those were the words that kept echoing in Dean's head.

It had been a week since he had been beaten—and then dominated in a completely different way—by his baby brother. And in that week, Sam had come out on top four more times.

So what if it wasn't all bad? So what if it had resulted in some of the most intense orgasms either of them had ever experienced in their lives? So what if little Sammy had morphed, at some point when Dean apparently wasn't looking, into some sort of awesome sex god who at this point could probably look at Dean the right way and have the older man on his knees. So what? None of that meant anything.

Tonight, Dean was going to take a page out of Sam's book. He was going to fight, and he was going to fight dirty. Whatever it took to get out from under his baby brother and finally, _finally_ fuck him hard.

Because _fair isn't in the rules_, right Sammy?

Dean laughed, a short, throaty chuckle that was barely audible over the clamor of the busy diner that he and Sam had stopped at for dinner that night.

But Sam, seated at the stool beside him at the front counter, heard it, and he looked up from his food with a curious look on his face. "What's so funny?"

Dean carefully schooled his features into a flat expression, not wanting to give his brother any hint of his plans. "Just trying to figure out what kind of guy orders, out of all this deep-fried splendor, a salad." He looked pointedly at Sam's plate as though it had personally offended him.

Sam looked away but otherwise didn't react as he took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. He took a drink of water and then set the glass back down before turning those strangely calm eyes towards Dean once more. "The kind of guy who kicks your ass and then makes you come on his cock nearly every night."

Dean nearly choked on his own spit. Had Sammy really just said that to him? In public? The younger man's expression was still perfectly calm, as though there had been nothing in the least bit vulgar or…well, hot, if Dean was honest…about what he had just said. Dean resisted the urge to look around, to try to see if anyone had heard. His long years as a hunter had taught him that doing so was the quickest way to get someone to start eavesdropping.

"Not every night, Sammy." Dean shrugged. He knew Sam was going to point out that the two nights they hadn't had been taken up by a hunt and a nearly cross-country drive when they had caught wind of a possible vampire nest in New Hampshire. "Not tonight."

Sam smirked, seeming completely unconcerned. Cocky asshole, Dean thought.

"We'll see about that." Sam shrugged and went back to his salad.

X

The thing was, the more Dean attempted to win against Sammy, the more Sammy _actually did_ kick his ass before the _jesusfuckingchristgood_ sex started. So Dean had actually briefly considered accepting this status quo of theirs. Had, in fact, given up pretty easily once.

But not this time. No, this time Dean was definitely going to do it. Probably. He just had to time it right. And it wasn't just that Dean wanted to be on top, fucking Sam, finding out what he feels like inside as tight heat clenches around him and Sammy comes on his dick and he shoots deep inside his little brother…

Okay, yeah, that was a _big_ part of it. Dean was only human, after all.

But more than that, Dean had always taken care of Sam. He made sure his brother was okay, was happy…or, as happy as they could be given their lives. That was a dynamic that Dean had always prized, and he wanted to take that with them in some way now that they weren't _just brothers_. He wanted to take care of Sam, his lover. He wanted to make him feel just as good as Sam made him feel, wanted to show him just how much he loved him.

Not that Dean wouldn't sooner cut his own tongue out and swallow it whole before he would say that out loud.

He had tried to show Sam, once. That time that he hadn't put up much of a fight, he had tried to make it that way, to show Sam with his actions what he wanted, to convince him without dominating him.

Remembering it now, Dean nearly laughed. Well, that hadn't worked.

So they were back to the old—if you could call a week "old"—way; he who comes out of the fight on top, tops.

Dean figured his best bet was the element of surprise. Or, really, his _only bet left_ was the element of surprise. Because in sheer size and strength, it just wasn't physically possible to beat his little brother fighting him straight-out and clean-cut.

Dean saw his chance the second they got back to the motel and took it, slamming into Sam from behind when his brother preceded him into the room, throwing all of his weight into it and knocking Sam to the floor, crashing down with him and quickly moving to pin his knees down on either side of Sam's body.

"Fuck, Dean, that wasn't fucking fair."

"Fair isn't in the rules," Dean hissed in his ear. He grabbed the shoulders of Sam's jacket and pulled. It was an awkward angle to undress the younger man in, but Dean didn't care. Sam's arms being bent back as Dean tugged at his clothes pretty much gave his little brother no choice but to cooperate to ease the pain. "Finally gonna fuck you, Sammy. Been thinking about this all fucking week."

Sam let out what sounded like a grunt mixed with a huff and then he was rolling hard, twisting under Dean and knocking the older man off-center, giving him the split second he needed to escape.

_Fuck_. He was so screwed now. Element of surprise, gone.

Dean didn't think as he was hoisted to his feet, his brother's hand twisting in the front of his shirt. In another second Sam would rip it from him—he hoped not literally because dammit, he was starting to run low on shirts—and then he would start on his jeans. He'd have Dean naked and under him in less than two minutes.

Dean acted, almost without being aware of deciding to, when Sam stepped back to undo his own jeans. He raced forward, barreling full-force into Sam. Sam wasn't expecting it and he went stumbling back, the back of his legs crashing into the bed and sending him toppling down, Dean on top of him. He moved quickly, knowing he had to get this done before Sam could orient himself and pull that fucking alligator-roll move again. He reached under the pillow and pulled out the item he had stowed their earlier, when his plan had first occurred to him. If there had been such thing as fair play in this, this would definitely be cheating.

Before Sam could react, before he even realized what was happening, Dean had pulled his arms up and cuffed them together, the chain wrapping around one of the thin bars on the short headboard. Dean sat back, his body tense as Sam tested the cuffs, awaiting his little brother's reaction when he realized they weren't a joke, but real, genuine police-issue handcuffs. One of the few pairs that Dean had ever managed to slip without destroying or having to leave behind, and the only pair that he had also managed to lift the key to.

Sam strained against the cuffs, pulling futilely. He bared his teeth at Dean, an almost animalistic growl issuing forth from his throat. "If you think I can't have you begging for it like a bitch even with my hands tied, you're in for a nasty surprise."

Dean didn't think about it, the adrenaline from the struggle still coursing thick in his veins. He pulled back his fist and punched Sam square in the jaw. Something in his protective instincts prevented the blow from landing full-force, but it was still hard enough to cause Sam's head to snap back and to make him swear loudly.

"Shut up, Sammy." His voice was deeper than normal, the command issuing forth in a tone nearly as animalistic as Sam's. "You _always_ fucking win. Just shut up and let me fuck you."

Sam let out an enraged sort of sound from the back of his throat and tried to buck Dean off but the older man kept his balance, managing to move to settle between his little brother's legs, his hands hurrying to unbutton his jeans and quickly pull them off, working as fast as he could in case Sam managed to slip the cuffs. He took a moment to sit back, though, kneeling between his brother's thighs as he admired the view of Sammy all spread out for him, a flush creeping down his chest that was probably half-anger, but also half-lust if his thick, throbbing cock was any indication. Dean felt his mouth start to water and he moved to lean over Sam, pressing his lips to the other man's in a soft, chaste kiss.

"Why can't you just admit you want it, Sammy?" Dean's voice was softer now, more gentle as he balanced on his knees and one hand and brought the other between them to brush his fingertips up the length of Sam's cock. He felt Sam shiver at the teasing contact. "Just admit you want it; want my cock inside of you, filling you up, making you come apart at the seams. Nothing wrong with it, baby boy."

The childhood pet name seemed to be Sam's breaking point. He bit back a low whine, his back arching in one last attempt to buck Dean off, a broken half-sob escaping his throat. His eyes opened, searching Dean's, and _fuck_, Dean knew that look. That was the look Sammy had worn when he asked where Dad was each Christmas growing up, when he talked about being the freak at a new school all over again, when he had begged Dean to understand as Dean sat at that motel table, refusing to even look at his little brother, unable to speak before Sammy walked out that door—_and don't you ever come back_—and left for college, when he blinked up at Dean through tears that night after Jess died before he brought their lips together for the first time. That was the look Sammy wore every time he tore Dean's heart apart. That was Sammy, vulnerable.

And suddenly the ferocity was gone, and Dean was kissing Sam, gentle and slow, the dip and press of their tongues against each other tender and intimate in a way that they never had been since this started.

"Let me do this," Dean muttered against Sam's lips after a few minutes. "Let me take care of you, baby boy." His hand, which had been resting on Sam's hip as he steadied himself, caressed up the younger man's side, over his ribs, and then back down to ghost over his thigh, setting every nerve along the way alight at the gentle touch, the not-enough teasing comforting motion.

Sam drew in a shaky breath, his throat working as he seemed to struggle with himself. Dean watched him closely, his hand repeating the circuit it had taken before, trying to soothe and calm his little brother as he waited patiently. Finally, Sam nodded.

Dean pressed a kiss to Sam's chest, then another, and another, leaving a trail of them down his body as he slowly moved. "Gonna take such good care of you, Sammy. Always. Gonna make you feel so good, show you how good it can be."

And for a guy who hated to talk about his feelings, when Dean was caught up in the moment, when he wasn't thinking about it, he could let that shit flow with startling sincerity. Or maybe that was just for Sammy. Always only reserved for Sammy. But whatever it was, it all spilled forth, muttered and carried on breathy whispers between soft kisses until Dean reached Sam's cock, still hard despite that vulnerability and apprehension, and it made something in Dean's chest swell, like it was a sign of how much his little brother trusted him to take care of him, to make it good, to _protect Sammy_. Like he always had. Like he always would.

He placed another one of those soft kisses on the underside of the head before dragging his lips down, following the thick vein that ran the length of the shaft, nuzzling Sam's cock lovingly. This was what he had wanted, what he had wanted to show Sammy—that it didn't have to be all fuck-and-fight-and-fuck-again. He wanted to take their time, to worship each other, to show each other how much this meant.

And if that made Dean sound like a chick, well, he didn't care—this was _Sammy_.

He ran his tongue back up the length, pausing to swirl around the head and swipe across the slit, tasting the trace of salty precum beginning there before he took the head in his mouth, sucking lightly. Sam gasped, his thighs tensing under Dean's hands, head falling back and eyes closing as Dean looked up at him, watching his reaction. Dean sucked harder, wanting to pull more sounds from Sam, wanting to hear his little brother let go, surrender to him, to what he was doing to him. Wanting to hear him enjoy it. He bobbed his head, taking in a little more of Sam's cock each time until the head was about to hit the back of his throat. He moaned around it, tearing a startled cry from Sam that tapered off into a moan.

"Dean…" Sam's voice was half-broken, half-awed. "God, Dean…feels so fucking good."

And Dean sort of wanted to tell him that _he told him so_, but his mouth was full of Sam and besides, they hadn't even gotten to the best part yet. Without removing his mouth from Sam or pausing in his motions, alternating between sucking him in as deep as he could and moving back up to swirl his tongue around the head, Dean felt around beside him on the bed, finally locating Sam's jeans. He reached in the pocket and found the small bottle of lube that Sam had bought after the time he had almost gotten Dean to ride him in the Impala, only to discover that they had nothing to help prepare him.

Dean gave an extra-hard suck, an extra-deep bob of his head as he touched one lube-covered finger to Sam's entrance, groaning at the heat radiating off of him. Sam jerked, gasping, and Dean would've shushed him, would've said something comforting, probably, if his mouth weren't stretched to capacity around his little brother's dick. He could feel Sam relaxing, becoming more comfortable with the situation, and now that his mind wasn't hyper-focused on calming Sam, his own arousal was demanding his attention. He needed to be in Sam, and soon, but he had to keep his word to his brother; he had to make sure it was good for Sam.

Sam bucked as Dean added a second finger, stretching the muscles, working them loose. The older man moaned low in his throat as his brother's walls clenched around his fingers, imagining what it was going to feel like when it was his cock pressing into that tight ring of muscles, being incased in that clenching heat. He found Sam's prostate, stroking it gently, and Sam bucked again, nearly shoving his dick down Dean's throat completely. Dean fought the urge to gag and pulled back, giving the head one last lick before his eyes flicked up to look at Sam.

"Ready, baby boy?" He was genuinely asking, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could go without being buried inside of Sam, moving in and out of that snug heat.

Thankfully, he wouldn't have to find out. Sam let out a deep breath and nodded, his hands coming to rest on Dean's biceps, finally bringing his gaze to meet Dean's. The older man was blown away by the change since he had last seen those hazel eyes. That edge of vulnerability was still there, yeah, but it was obscured under a thick layer of heat and lust.

And then his little brother parted those pretty lips and uttered a phrase that Dean was sure would haunt his waking and dreaming thoughts for as long as he lived: "Fuck me, Dean."

Dean pulled his fingers free. And maybe what he did next wasn't _exactly_ what Sam had asked for, because by all technicalities, Dean _made love_ to Sam that night, thrusting slow and deep, his eyes locked on his brother's face as he brought him slowly to the edge and held him there before finally, finally letting him topple over, following after him as he held onto him tight. He may have told him he loved him as they fell.

They lay in the afterglow for awhile and Dean let his eyes close as he felt Sam's arms wrap around him, his little brother turning to burrow into his side, head on his chest.

Another beat and they snapped open again, the realization of what had just happened shocking him so much that he sat up, causing Sam to fall to the bed. Sam smirked, not bothering to open his eyes as his older brother's eyes traveled down his arm to his wrist, finding the handcuffs dangling from it, one hinge open completely. He couldn't remember when Sam had gotten loose, couldn't place it in his mind when Sam had been able to touch him again, had been able to move freely and hadn't run.

"Didn't even realize you didn't have the key, did you?"

**The End.  
**_I hope you enjoyed it. :)_


End file.
